


If You'd Have Given Me A Moment

by Sally_Port



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_Port/pseuds/Sally_Port
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if things had gone different the first time Miles tried to kill Bass</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You'd Have Given Me A Moment

His hand trembled and looking into his friend's blue eyes, just before he smashed the gun butt into Monroe's face, he knew, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't pull the trigger.

The solid metal stock hit pillow and Miles cursed, his own post-bomb reflexes slowed but apparently Bass' were still working just fine.

"Miles?" Miles wanted to curse again, bringing the gun back up again. He couldn't do this; didn't want to do this. But his options for walking out that door had just dwindled to one.

One. Just one of us. Him or me. But neither of us deserve to live.

He wondered if he'd be better off to pull the trigger and then put the gun to his own head.

Abruptly the memory of Bass, whiskey bottle in one hand and gun in the other, tears running down his face, sitting beside all that remained of his family.

"Miles. What's going on?" He'd expected rage, fury; something other than hurt confusion.

The light of the moon and a few street lanterns shone through the window and Bass Monroe, unhinged psychopath, reached out his hand. "What is it?"

Miles lowered the gun, wishing Bass at least had looked relieved but Monroe's face didn't change; still looked worried.

"Miles?"

"Uh, I, uh." Miles coughed, trying to clear the knot out of his throat. "I can't do this anymore. This whole thing. The Republic. The Militia. Not after what you did. We started this to help people. Not to murder their children."

Monroe blinked. "Is that what this is about? Miles, he tried to kill you. I couldn't let someone get away with that."

"You kill them. Then their family tries to kill us. So we kill their family? Where does it end, Bass? I can't do it anymore. I'm out."

Bass looked at the gun, at Miles and Miles flinched back as Bass sat up in bed, arms held wide, palms out. "Okay."

"Okay? Bass, what about this is okay?"

Bass shrugged and the gesture was so familiar, Miles felt his heart catch. He'd already lost Ben to whatever hellhole his brother had vanished into and he wasn't sure he could live without Bass as well.

"Well, none of it really. But give me a few minutes."

"A few minutes. You can't fix everything in the Republic in a few minutes. Not after everything we've done."

"Well, no. But it will give me time to grab some clothes, food and a couple of horses." Bass rubbed hand through his hair, making the close-cropped curls stand up. "Unless you want us to go haring off in our pajamas, barefoot and nothing for breakfast. "

Miles staggered back, head shaking and suddenly the knot in his throat moved to his stomach and he wondered if he was about to throw up. "What?"

For the first time Bass looked angry. "You don't think you're going without me, do you?" He blinked up at Miles, face suddenly even more hurt than when he'd seen the gun. "You were, weren't you."

When Miles said nothing, Bass growled, a noise of frustration, low in his throat. "You dumbass. What were you thinking?"

Miles sat abruptly on the bed as his knees gave out and Monroe shook his head. "You have a concussion, Moron. How far do you really think you'd have gotten?"

Miles shook his head and suddenly Bass was on his feet. "Just sit there while I go arrange us horses and food. I wish I could get you to wait till morning at least. . .but maybe you're right. If we're going to do this, we should do it now and get it over with before I change my mind."

Bass was half-way to his dressing room when Miles was able to speak. "What about the Republic?"

"I don't care about the Republic. Never did. This whole thing was your idea in the first place."

"Who--"

Bass cut him off. "Don't know. Don't care. We're giving up the right to pick because we're taking off in the middle of the night. Someone else can deal with it. Besides," suddenly he flashed that heartbreaking grin that Miles had always known was going to get him killed someday, "they can hardly do a worse job at than I did, can they."


End file.
